


My Witness Is The Empty Sky

by Ullalume



Category: One Direction (Band)
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2013-08-09
Updated: 2013-08-09
Packaged: 2017-12-22 22:27:57
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,470
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/918748
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/Ullalume/pseuds/Ullalume
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>The boys rent a luxury villa in LA; Zayn is lonely and Harry is right beside him.</p>
            </blockquote>





	My Witness Is The Empty Sky

_My witness is the empty sky._

Jack Kerouac, Some of the Dharma

 

 

 

They rented the mansion on a whim, like many things they do. At first it semeed to be a good idea, having the whole manor for themselves. No hotel guests, no fans milling around, and pure benefits of the place like this with its fancy furniture and lavishly designed facilities.

It was Liam's idea at the beginning, but he convinced Niall quick enough, and the rest of them didn't really have a choice but to agree – unless you wanted to sound like an introverted wanker, obviously.

The whole deal became a hot topic within a few hours, and much to their dismay, paps and fans were well informed, already camping outside the fence. From the balcony above, Zayn could see the crowd – small, bustling figures. Some people where trying to snap a pic or two, but the distance did the trick. Zayn felt well hidden, but as always in situations like this, he also felt endangered, exposed and vulnerable; like there was something dark and heavy hovering above his head, ready to drop and crush him.

On the brightside, the weather was lovely, people far enough - and they finally had well-deserved rest. There was nothing to moam about which was the biggest problem.Once again they were obligated to be happy.

 The residence was interesting. Extravagant architecture was eye catching and Zayn couldn't help but admire the symmetry of it. I did remind half of a ship somehow, and desing inside was modern but pleasant enough to be considered as friendly or warm. The builiding was huge, with enormous pool, spacious bedrooms and – in Zayn's opinion – other unnecessary, vast premises. They had five bedrooms and eight – eight! – bathrooms at disposal, plus some posh places that a normal home should never have; a spa, a theather, a nightclub and more. It made him feel dizzy and lost, like a child who went too deep into a labyrinth.

Touring around the house took him almost the whole day and it was stupid enough; they were staying there for a week, so what was the point anyway? 

In the end they all settled in different places. Liam was at the gym, maybe with Louis, because Louis was nowhere to be found, and Niall was loitering around two kitchens. Harry was probably at his room, soundly asleep. 

He managed to sneak into Zayn's room earlier, left a cup of tea and book. He was sitting at Zayn's bed, maybe even lying – judging by the disarrayed bedding he was. Such a Harry thing to do, lay down in bandmate's bed and possibly take a nap. Zayn knew Harry didn't do that, not this time. He was on the balcony for a fifteen minutes or so; Harry had enough time to wallow in Zayn's bed and leave a banana peel on the night table

 

Not the nicest suprise, really, but Harry's presence stayed in the room – in a mysterious way it calmed Zayn. Like such a trivial details like the rumpled blanket or a tatty book could possibly relax him

He spent the rest of the day reading that shitty book Harry gave him. It was a young adult novel, pretty pretentious but thanks to Harry's comments scribbled on the margins, still entertaining. Tip one, Harry wrote, wanna impress your crush? Try to drown him, nothing could a better soul-bonding experience!!! There also was drawn a tiny whale in princess' tiara. Zayn didn't feel so peaceful and content for a long time. 

As the sun was setting, people around the builiding started to leave, slowly and relucatntly at first, but effectively enough and by the midnight there was no one unwanted nearby, just the security team lads.

The boys moved as well; Louis was already sleeping in Liam's room, Liam was watching telly and Niall was fiddling with the spa. Harry vanished somewhere, but it was a good thing too. They didn't have much space between them and Zayn was getting itchy when Harry was too close, book and tea sentiment aside.

It had something to do with that heat, loneliness. Zayn knew that much. But he didn't feel like expolring Harry-Zayn dynamics once again. He wouldn't find anything new anyway, because Harry had a certain way with a certain people, and that's how things were from the very beginning.

He didn't want to think about Harry, but the more he didn't want to, the more he did.

Suddenly Harry was flashing into his mind, drifting on memories, his raspy, sleepy voice a constant soundtrack in Zayn's ears. The book was long forgotten, tea cup empty and cold.

Zayn was resting in his absurdly big room, enjoying the sound of silence, trying to win a wrestling match with his own thoughts. False start, he was on a hiding to nothing.

He saw Perrie not long ago, very briefly. She was at the concert, lovely and overworked as always, dressed up in her colourful clothes and showing her cheerful smile.

Perrie was an easier topic or maybe less risky at least. Zayn could still smell her perfume – sweet, fruity scent of a girl he is meant to be in love with. Yet there he was – lying on that stupid bed, alone in the darkness, phone call away from her.

And he remembered how her perfume smelled, yes, but he – his skin and hair and clothes – he smelled like Harry. A mixture of a cologne, sweat and grass.

Probably it should be disgusting but for Zayn it was rather a small inconvenience. They all smelled, and looked and behaved like each other in the band, something that couldn't be avoided with their lives interwoven so tight.

Clock ticks heartlessly while Matthew Bellamy laments quietly _lips are turning blue, a kiss that can't renew_ into the night.

 

Zayn gets on the balcony because he needs a smoke – fresh air is a nice addition – and tries to be surprised when he sees him.

Harry is sitting on the deckchair, still fully clothed, with that dumb self-made hair band on. It's almost completely dark around them, navy blue night with a starless sky above.

He notices him right away, smiles and waves with that smooth, lazy motion.

“Can't sleep, mate?”. Zayn tries not to grimace when he answers ”Nah, just need a cig. It's not that late anyway”. Harry nods, but not in a _ah, yep, I get that_ way. He nods as if to say _I see now_. It's disturbing, his body language, but Zayn just shrugs and lights a cigarette.

He can feel Harry's gaze, but it doesn't feel wrong or intrusive or reprimanding, just intense enough to make Zayn warm and queasy with nerves.

Many things with Harry feel right when they should feel wrong, Zayn is used to that by now.

 

Eventually Harry gets up and stands right beside him, almost bumping their hips and elbows together. Zayn doesn't blush, but he's sweating now, his heart pumping blood with a double effort, like it's the last chance before he bleeds out.

Harry takes his time and unravels the situation slowly, with calm tempo of his deep, unhurried breathing. He's very warm when he stands behind Zayn, his skin scorching Zayn's when he leans a bit and they are touching, Harry's chest to Zayn's back.

“Well?” says Harry, but there is no answer Zayn can give him, only quiet “Yes”, but it's more a sigh than a word.

Harry moves even closer; Zayn can feel every part of his body – skinny legs, an outline of his dick, semi hard; solid and sinewy chest. Harry's chin is digging in Zayn's shoulder and Harry's forehead rests on Zayn's temple. Harry is behind him, so Zayn can't see his face, but feels his lips stretching into a smile, a genuine one. Harry kisses him gently, with misleading delicacy.

Zany lets himself melt into it and find a home in Harry's touch, just for the moment.

It ends quickly, leaves Zayn cold, when Harry takes a step back, and then a second one. For a moment it's crystal clear how their night is going to end – they will sleep in separate beds, different rooms, isolated by the emptiness of this place.

But then Harry grabs his hand and makes him turn around, so they are facing each other. The light from the inside of the house is not enough. All he can see is Harry's smile and shining eyes, that hopeful expression full of promises. It's like an empty candy wrap, because none of those promises will ever come true, but Zayn lets himself enjoy it anyway.

They are holding both hands now. Harry kisses him and Zayn kisses back. It's less chaste than their fist kiss, but that one was so long ago...

It still feels pure and true, the way they slide their lips together, tongues touching hesitantly. Zayn sighs again as plumes of fireworks explode behind his closed eyes.

Harry smiles against his lips and mumbles something, something that sounds like “do you remember?” and maybe even “forever”.

 

Drowning in cold water would be better. This time Zayn's the one to break the contact and take a step back. Harry has this look in his eyes, daring, and he's still holding Zayn hands in iron grip, desperately trying to prove something.

“I mean it, you know. We can try. We can try, and we will...”

“We will what, Harry? Live happily ever after? Don't you think – don't you see how it is?”

Harry is looking at him as the silence blooms between them. Not far away, LA is awake, big voracious beast with million bright lights sparkling like an artifical stars.

Later, Zayn will find it comforting. How many people is near him, laughing, partying, living and loving. Now it's just a distant echo.

“Well...” says Harry, and Zayn wants to hit him so hard, suck dry all his _well_ and _forever_ , make him stop. Just delete Harry from his orbit  for a second.

It passes fast. What they did was reckless – kissing outside where they could be seen. Poor decisions and clouded judgement, yes, but Zayn isn't looking for excuses. They don't need them anymore. He should let it go and leave, get inside, go to sleep, forget – there's no use though, not when Harry's right there, an arm length away, with that defiant look on his face.

They stare at each other. Harry kisses him again, this time more demanding and aggressive, tying to covey the message.

Zayn is too weak to deny him, so they kiss and touch in the darkness, panting like naughty teenagers who broke the curfew just to steal some heated moments.

Harry is talking again, rushed words against Zayn's skin but it's alright – he doesn't mind anymore, just lets his fingers swim in Harry's curls.

They are desperate now, on the cups of something big and far more important than orgasms. It's like they made a point in the past and now they have prove it, with all scientific facts and hopeful faith they've got.

Orgasms are like a freight train, can't stop them, and they are rutting at each other with an incredible desperation. Very tricky, coming when you have arms full of other boy, clotched, untouched and standing, but Zayn manages anyway and Harry follows.

Zayn is trying to stand straight, which is hard with wobbly legs and post-orgasm haze. Harry is still clutching Zayn's arms, breathing fast and shallow but giggling too. “You made me come in my pants; I was fifteen when last time it happened”.

Zayn snorts.

“I make you feel young again?”. He means it to sound cheesy and banal, but Harry takes it seriously. “You do, you know. Not feel young, really. But feel right”.

 

Zayn is both happy and sad, because something big happened and some changes are unavoidable now. Harry must feel the same – he looks away and then up. They are watching the sky for a few minutes, but their time together is over and at that point coming back to the reality is inevitable.

They are holding hands while tiptoeing down the stairs. The house is asleep, and the quietness makes an illusion like there are only the two of them, alone.

As the perfect gentleman that he is, Harry walks Zayn to his room. They stop in the hall and Zayn considers inviting Harry in, strating and ending something in that very definite way. Harry wants that too, he can tell. Underlying tension and emotions sharp like broken glass are flying in the air. Everything is suspended.

Nothing happens. They say goodnight, kiss each other on the cheek. Zayn watches as Harry disappears down the hallway. His door creak when he closes them quietly.

 

The next day starts in a normal, predicted way. All the lads eat breakfast together, the only way they know now; Louis sits on Harry's lap, per usual and Niall steals everyone's food.

For a second Zayn frets that Liam has noticed something, given worried looks he sends him all the time. He makes and effort and mentions something about a tough night and sleeping in a new place.

That gives him understanding nods and Louis' “Aww, I could sleep with you – you wouldn't believe how Liam snorts; swear to god he's worse than Niall”

“Am not!”

“Hard to break it to you man, but you do. Liam Payne snoring machine!”.

Food fight begins right with the usual morning melee. Harry is looking at him, and he looks at Harry. Everyting is how it was, nothing changes never.

Later that afternoon Zayn will call Perrie and Harry will go somewhere with his friends. In the future they'll perform together, fool around a bit on stage and touch too much while during interviews. They will live together, and love together – only different people – always so close yet separated by the thin veil of decency and common sense.

After seven nights the boys leave the mansion and LA, leaving blinding lights behind.

The sky stays the same, trails after them like the only witness that it is.

 

Sometimes, while lying awake in the middle of the night, Zayn likes to imagine that it all happened in public, with people and cameras around him and Harry. Not because he's an exhibitionist, but because maybe in that way something would be different – more real? – and would last longer. 

In the meantime Harry cuddles with, steals his clothes and they get more tattoos together. It's nothing big between them, probably it will never be, but most of the time Zayn's at peace with that. Every now and then Harry would whisper something to him, they fingers grazing and bare skin touching, and Zayn would smile and hold him closer -- it's a wishful thinking of possibilities that keeps them going.

 

**Author's Note:**

> First of all, I sincerely apologise for all my mistakes; If you find any - let me know so I can fix them. it's been a long time since I wrote - finished! - anything so it feels a little bit like a debut. This is a fictional story, but the LA ship-shaped villa isn't a complete fantasy; rumor has it that the lads really stay there.  
> I hope you enjoyed it; comments are gold.


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